


Quills

by Inell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-20
Updated: 2006-01-20
Packaged: 2018-10-26 08:33:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10783248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/pseuds/Inell
Summary: Hermione has a quill...





	Quills

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

Would you be still? You keep moving and messing up my design.""If you'd stop poking me with a sharp stick, I might stop moving."  
  
"Bill, it's a quill. It's not very sharp and it's certainly not a stick," Hermione corrected him matter-of-factly. "I want this to look perfect."  
  
"Why?" he asked with a hint of a whine. "It feels funny and I'm tired of lying here."  
  
"It's only been ten minutes," she said dryly. "And what do you mean it feels weird? The texture is quiet sensual, actually. You look sexy."  
  
"You say that I like don't always," he muttered.  
  
Hermione put down the quill and smiled. "All done," she told him as she brushed the tip of her finger over the body paint. "Mmm...smells like cinnamon. Wonder if it tastes like it, too."  
  
Bill looked down at her and grinned slowly. He pushed his long hair away from his face and leaned back, feeling her gaze caress the scars on his cheek as surely as if she touched him. She was touching the design she'd painted on his lower abdomen and his cock twitched in appreciation when she licked her lips. "Why don't you find out?" he suggested huskily.  
  
An hour later, she snuggled against him, her breath warm on his chest as she slept. Her final conclusion, after much time devoted to experimenting, was that it did, indeed, taste like cinnamon.


End file.
